


Destiny

by starlightwalking



Series: A-Spectrum Anthology [16]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Legolas, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Gen, Tolkien Gen Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Most of the Eldar married early in their endless lives, and those who waited were sometimes said to be fated for greatness. Thranduil did not think of his son’s destiny, only his happiness—but Legolas doesn’t quite believe such superstitions.





	Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> This follows movie timelines for the most part, but Peter Jackson's randomly assigned age for Legolas is completely disregarded. He’s a baby elf, only a couple hundred years older than Tauriel.  
> This is based heavily on my own experiences...kind of revealing how much I project onto Legolas, oops.  
> For Tolkien Gen Week Day 5: Diversity. I picked that category just for this fic, to be honest; the whole idea for a Gen Week stemmed from an idea for an arospec-themed event but I thought Gen Week would reach to more people!

Most of the Eldar married early in their endless lives, within their first few hundred years. Those who waited to wed were sometimes said to be fated for greatness, though mostly in retrospect.

Any elves who passed five hundred years still unmarried were seen as different, a little odd—only centuries later did their kin look back and proclaim, "We knew it all along—they were always going to be remarkable, from their very youth!"

Lúthien Tinúviel and her father, Elu Thingol, both married late. Lúthien's husband was a mortal man, Thingol's wife a Maia: this was held up as proof of such a superstition. Maedhros the Tall never married, and proved to be the most famous of all the sons of Fëanor; his only romantic endeavor was fabled to be with his dear friend Fingon.

Such incidents were not isolated to Beleriand. Leagues away, revered heroes of Silvan culture were made all the more fantastic by picking apart their love lives.

Sileves and Nimben, the first Queen and King of the Woodland Realm, were not wed until they were thousands of years old: they protected their people from vicious enemies and hideous monsters, eventually dying in tragedy as dragons laid waste to the northern forest.

Medlíon the Mighty, strong as a bear, served under King Oropher in the Second Age. He was a fearsome captain of the King's Guard, unmarried to his dying day. He survived the Battle of Dagorlad even as his king fell, but his fatal flaw proved to be his love for a Noldorin woman under Gil-galad's command. In the Siege of Barad-dûr, he sacrificed himself for her, casting himself both before her enemy's weapon and into Silvan legend.

Not every elf who married late or never had a grand destiny in store; most did not. Legolas Thranduilion had recently turned a thousand years of age, and he had still not chosen a wife. This worried his father, though Thranduil only worried for his son's happiness and not his possible greatness—at least, to begin with.

Legolas tried to avoid his father whenever the topic of romance came up. Thranduil was overbearing and single-minded when it came to the issue, always trying to set him up with pretty ladies and making snide comments about the ones of which he disapproved.

He wasn't always—or even often—successful.

"I spoke to Tauriel today," Thranduil mentioned one night as they dined as father and son. "I believe she is under the impression that you have a certain fondness for her."

Legolas paused in his chewing. "Mmmff," he said through a mouthful of food.

"Manners, Legolas," Thranduil scolded. "You are not a child."

He swallowed. "Father, not this again!" he complained.

Thranduil took a sip of wine, ignoring his protests. "Naturally, I discouraged her. I suggest you do the same."

"She is a  _friend_ ," he insisted. "Nothing more!"

"Hmmm." Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "See that she remains so," he said. "She is a good captain, and I like her, but she would not make a suitable princess...nor, I fear, a suitable wife. Six hundred and unmarried still..."

"I am over a thousand and unmarried," Legolas objected.

"Much to my distress!" Thranduil sighed, fanning his face. "If your mother were here..."

"Don't bring her into this," Legolas said stiffly. "Not about something so petty."

"Marriage is serious business," Thranduil insisted, but his frown softened. "I only wish for your happiness, Legolas."

"I know," Legolas said, and he did. That didn't take the edge off the sting of Thranduil's words.

"Perhaps you are fated for some grand destiny," Thranduil mused. "As a warrior, or with an unusual love...like in all the tales."

Somehow, that made Legolas even more uncomfortable. "I do not think that is at all likely."

Thranduil chuckled. "Of course you do not. Well, only time will tell."

* * *

Legolas liked Tauriel. She was funny, fierce, and the only person he knew who came close to outshooting him. Until his father had begun to drop hints that she may harbor some attraction to him, he would never have considered such feelings.

She was pretty, he supposed, and certainly a good friend, but Legolas was fairly sure he was not in love with her. Sometimes the way Thranduil talked had him half-convinced that he was, but he never felt that way when around her.

If he even knew what "that way" was supposed to feel like. Over a thousand, and he'd never felt for anyone. Nearly all his friends were married with children who were married themselves—why was he any different?

He did not know, but he wished he could forget about the whole thing.

Forgetting is what he needed after the Battle of the Five Armies. The battle deeply shook him and all his convictions, and his mind was troubled. Watching Thranduil's one-minded dismissal of dwarven life, his need for the jewels Thorin had kept from him, and his fierce reproach of all Tauriel's ideals...it disturbed him.

Legolas needed to see the world for himself. He needed to fill his head with new sights and new people, to discover Middle-earth outside of the forest where he had grown.

He bade farewell to his father and all he knew, setting out on his own. Thranduil was distant in their goodbye, not offering an embrace or even a reminder of his love. He could sense the resentment and confusion harbored in Legolas's heart, the pain that drove him away.

Tauriel had fallen in love at last, finding her own great destiny; hers was a tragedy with a dead dwarven lover. Nothing about that story appealed to Legolas. The misery in which she found herself frightened him so much that he could barely bring himself to leave condolences before his departure.

Legolas didn't know who he was anymore. He had been a prince, the son of a strict but loving father, an elf of Mirkwood, a man proud of his land and kin and identity. Now he was unsure that any of that mattered.

What destiny lay in store for him? Was his to mirror Tauriel's, a strange and twisted tale with love that would destroy him? Was he to settle down somewhere, find a wife, live a satisfied life—but far from his home? Had his destiny already come and gone, his lack of attraction to Tauriel notwithstanding? Did he have a grand fate in store at all, or was this just another one of his father's superstitions? Or, worst of all...was he to remain alone and loveless forever?

Legolas wandered the wilds for a year. He lived alone, without the company of any others, searching his soul for answers. He found none, but he did recover a certain amount of peace, and a resolve to take his father's advice and head to Imladris.

Lord Elrond welcomed him into his realm with grace and warmth. Legolas felt like some sort of prince again as the elves of Imladris treated him as their guest of honor.

After a delicious feast and many songs of merriment, Elrond invited him to speak in private.

"What is your purpose in coming to Imladris, Prince Legolas?" he asked gravely. "I see your heart is troubled beneath your smile. Have things gone awry in the Greenwood? Has your father sent us for our aid?"

Legolas shook his head, amused. "No. It would be a sad day for my father if he was reduced to begging for the aid of the Noldor. I came here for my own reasons."

"We are here for our kin," Elrond said, "should Thranduil ever ask." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here, then?"

He didn't meet Elrond's eyes. "I did not know where else to go."

Elrond clasped his hands together. "If you do not wish to tell me, I will pry no longer. I merely wish to help you as best I can."

"You are kind," Legolas said, relenting. "Alright. The truth is...after the Battle of the Five Armies, I do not know what to make of my father, or the kingdom where I was raised. I used to be so certain about my place in the world, and...now I am not." He tapped his fingers against his leg. "My father has always tried to push me to be like him, to be a prince, an isolationist, a husband and father...but I do not know that is what I want."

"You are unmarried?" Elrond asked. Legolas nodded, wishing he had not mentioned it.

"Ah," he said, nodding knowingly. "And you feel pressured to wed?"

"Father believes I have a great destiny in store," Legolas explained.

Elrond laughed half-heartedly. "I see. Well, I must apologize for helping to develop that certain superstition. I did not marry until my thousands, as well. I should have known better than to expect a happy, peaceful marriage—though Celebrían was perfect in every way, and I love our children, she passed into the west...and left me with the fate of Middle-earth in my hands." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It is a heavy weight I carry."

"That...does not exactly comfort me," Legolas admitted.

"My sons, Elladan and Elrohir, married early," Elrond said. "My daughter, Arwen, is yet unwed. I do not know what lies in store for her...though I can guess..." He scowled. "Perhaps you ought to speak with her, and find some comfort." He raised an eyebrow. "Or even—" He laughed. "No, I will not be so forward. Friendship is all one can hope for."

Legolas was unsure if Elrond had just given his blessing to court his daughter—but he had no intentions of doing so. He had lived life without a wife thus far, and he did not feel he lacked anything. If love was to be in his life, he would wait for it to find him, and not go running around searching for it.

Nothing stirred within him as he befriended Arwen. She was a lovely woman, beautiful and wise, but he did not wish for her hand. And even if he had, it was clear she was in love with someone else. She spoke fondly of an Aragorn, son of Arathorn, so much so that it seemed they were already wed.

Most remarkable of all, Aragorn was no elf. He was a mortal man, and though he hailed from the noble line of the Dúnedain, he had not the endless years and vigor of the Eldar. If Arwen and Aragorn were smitten, perhaps the tales of fate and destiny to those elves who waited for marriage held some measure of truth! Such thoughts only perturbed him more.

When Legolas met Aragorn, he understood immediately why Arwen was so enamoured of this human ranger. He was ruggedly handsome, wise beyond his years, gentle in peace and fearsome in battle. And if Legolas didn't know any better, he'd say he was in—

But he wasn't, and he did know better. Love was simply not in store for him, though he still looked for it everywhere. In every interaction, in every elleth he met, and now even in a human man, he racked his mind for attraction. He was so desperate, he would project romantic fantasies onto the most unlikely of folk!

Besides, such silly thoughts only occurred at his darkest moments, and never when Legolas actually spent time with Aragorn, riding with the Dúnedain, shooting orcs and laughing at crude jokes. (That was the thing about humans; to them, nothing was sacred.)

One summer evening nearly ten years after Legolas's initial arrival in Imladris, Aragorn came to him with a confession.

"Legolas, you are one of my dearest friends," he began seriously. "I...have something to tell you."

Legolas waited, as patient as he could, hiding how his palms sweat and his heart pounded. His mind raced, trying to piece together what Aragorn meant.

Aragorn took a deep breath. "I hope you do not judge me for this, and—"

Legolas crossed his arms, leaning closer to his friend. "Just tell me, Aragorn." He shoved him lightly. "I promise I will treat you the same."  _Unless..._  he thought, but he pushed that away. Besides—the idea of Aragorn returning feelings for him was ludicrous. Especially since his "feelings" were not real. And he would not wish for a—relationship, certainly.

Whatever turmoil he concealed was overridden as Aragorn admitted to his deep and abiding love for...

"Lady Arwen," Aragorn cried. "She is the fairest, most gentle woman I have ever known—I love her, she loves me, we are—"

"Is that all?" Legolas demanded. He was in no way surprised. "You two are the most obvious couple I have ever seen!  _Everyone_  knows, even me, and I am so oblivious to this sort of thing, you wouldn't believe! Even Lord Elrond—"

"What?" The blood drained slowly out of Aragorn's face. "You—Lord Elrond?"

Legolas laughed and began to assure him that everything was alright.

He was relieved that it was Arwen that Aragorn was in love with. It had been abundantly clear already, anyway. He had  _not_  been secretly hoping that Aragorn's affections were in his direction. Not at all! He and Aragorn would not fit that way, even if Legolas wished for such a thing. Which, he was nearly certain, he did not.

Legolas never mentioned anything of the sort to Aragorn, no matter how late they stayed up around a crackling fire, or how often they would stroll around the gardens of Imladris, or how good it felt to wake with Aragorn's head resting gently on his shoulder.

Those things were nice, but Legolas was almost entirely sure his feelings were not romantic. (Almost.) He had appreciated Tauriel's friendship in similar ways, and whatever his father said, he hadn't been in love with her, either.

It was from another ranger that he first heard the word that would explain his past and change his outlook on the great destiny that lay before him.

Rystil was a distant relative of Aragorn, a third cousin twice removed or some other connexion of his mother's. Though she most often patrolled in the West, she came to visit Imladris one autumn, and she took a shine to the quiet, peculiar elf that hung around her cousin.

"You're awfully private, Legolas," Rystil said as they rode together one day. "I know you're not an elf of Imladris—where are you from?"

"The Greenwood," he answered.

"Mirkwood, you mean?" she asked.

He sighed. "We do not call it that. It is my homeland, not some mirky, nightmarish terror."

"Oh." Rystil brushed a lock of hair out of her hair awkwardly. "I am sorry."

"Alright, my term for questions," Legolas said. "Have you, ah, children or a spouse at home? Someone you protect the wilds for?"

To his surprise, Rystil only laughed.

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "And it's rather rude for you to assume!"

Now it was his turn to feel awkward. "My apologies," he said. "I, too, am unwed... I was merely curious."

"It's alright." Rystil looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Unwed, you say? Are you...aromantic, too?"

"Arom—what?" he asked, thrown by the odd question.

"Aromantic," she explained, repeating it slower this time. "Like...asexual. It means that one does not experience romantic attraction. I am aromantic, which is why I never married."

Legolas only stared at her. "Ah, uh," he mumbled. He blinked, his mind suddenly open to the possibility that one could simply... _not_. He was not destined to marry, after all?

His world stretched before him, now more open and free. "Um...I do not know."

Rystil saw the look in his eyes and smiled. "I did not mean to put you on the spot. It is a personal question, after all—"

"No, no, I, uh," he stammered. "I have never heard the word before. Aromantic..." Speaking it sent a shiver down his spine, like this was something he hadn't known he was looking for.

"If you have a question, I am here," she said kindly. "And do not feel pressured. It is only one option among many."

Rystil left Imladris not long after that conversation, taking a patrol of rangers to the West were they would watch over those small, rural communities oblivious to their presence. But her words—and that one word in particular, "aromantic"—stuck in Legolas's mind.

He began to hesitantly, cautiously think of himself as aromantic as well. The label just  _fit_ , better than anything else he'd ever considered before. He had never desired romance, never truly wished for marriage; every time his father had pushed the issue, he had felt like it was being forced upon him. Though he feared being alone forever, Aragorn and Tauriel and his other friends were proof that dear companions need not be romantic.

Legolas still had his moments of doubt. When he spoke to Aragorn, he remembered those uneasy, confusing feelings of something that wasn't quite infatuation, and wondered if that had been romance after all. But the fact that he was not sure seemed to him a sign that they were not: to those truly in love, it was apparent to themselves after a time.

Such worries became briefer and briefer, fading in intensity every day. Eventually, Legolas accepted that whatever  _that_  had been, it was not romance. By now, he would have known if it was.

"Aragorn, I have something to tell you," he said one night as they camped together under the stars. "And no, it is not a confession of love." He cracked a smile, remembering the nervous awkwardness that had once consumed him. Now he was still anxious, but for a different reason.

"Well, then speak it!" Aragorn laid down, propping his head up with calloused hands. "I have divulged all my secrets to you, now tell me yours!"

Legolas tapped his knee. It was only a few years since Rystil's visit, and less since he had accepted himself. Though he knew Aragorn would not judge him, he was still hesitant to let such a private part of himself out into the open.

"You know the superstition among the Eldar, that those who marry late are fated for greatness and sorrow?" he asked.

"Aye, Lord Elrond is the prime example," Aragorn said. He frowned. "And Arwen, I suppose..."

"And myself," Legolas added. "Though I plan not to marry at all. I am...I am aromantic."

Aragorn looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, then nodded. "That's all?"

"What?"

"That's your secret?" Aragorn chuckled. "It comes as no surprise to me. Like Rystil is, correct? You wish not to wed."

"Yes," Legolas said, caught off guard by Aragorn's ease.

"Good," he said. "Love is torture, my friend, and I envy you."

"No, you do not," Legolas scolded. "It has taken me this long, over a thousand years, to discover this about myself and accept it. And I know a certain elf-maiden who would have many things to say to you if she overheard you! This is as serious to me as your love for Arwen is to you."

Aragorn sat back up. "That is fair, mellon," he admitted. "And I did not mean to make light of it." He touched Legolas's arm. "I am here to support you, as you do for me, always."

* * *

The years flew by, full of light and laughter, until Legolas realized that he was no longer searching for himself. He had found who he was, though the process was bound to continue into eternity. He was a friend, a warrior—and yes, a prince after all. He missed his home and his father and his companions, and he wanted to return.

Most of all, he had found that whatever destiny lay before him, it would not be tied to his marriage, for there would be none. Legolas was aromantic, and happy with the fact.

But though he was overcome with a longing to see the trees and people he had once known, he was hesitant to leave the comfort and stability of Imladris.

How would he return home after all this time? He had left things with his father so poorly, so unresolved; did Thranduil even want him back? Had Tauriel returned home, or was she banished still? Was there a home for him to return to?

He confided in his uncertainties to Aragorn. His dearest friend considered the matter, then advised, "Where does your heart lie? Go there. The Dúnedain and I will be here still, should you wish to return."

It was not until he ran into an old friend that he resolved in his decision.

Tauriel came to Imladris, cloaked in grey and looking a thousand years older. Her face was long, her hair cut impossibly short, her stance tight and wary. As a wandering warrior and not a mighty prince, she was offered no welcoming feast, only a bed and meal.

Legolas was out in the wild with the Dúnedain when she arrived, and upon his return to Imladris, he did not know she was there as well until one of the gate guards mentioned off-hand that there was a Silvan warrior staying there.

He flew to the guest wing, anxious to discover if it was truly her. He burst into her room with a smile alight on his face, crying out, "Tauriel!"

She drew a knife on him and bared her teeth in haggard fury. She drew back just as quickly, gazing upon him in utter shock. "Legolas!"

A grin split her face, and the radiant fire he had once seen in her was kindled once again. She threw herself into his arms, making up for years of separation in a single embrace.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" she retorted, laughing.

"You tell me, and I'll tell you," he insisted, and sat down to hear her story.

She relented, and spun a tale of sorrow and wonder. After the Battle, Tauriel had left the Greenwood and begun her own journey to find herself and recover from the wounds of lost love. But though Legolas's destiny lay before him, hers had passed: she found solace in the stars and in riding the fine horses of Rohan, she found peace in the trees of Lothlórien and the quiet shores of the western sea.

But Tauriel was an elf of Middle-earth, and the sea never called to her. So thus she returned to the Greenwood and reconciled with Thranduil, now traveling as his ambassador. This visit in Imladris was simply a stop on her way home from Gondor, where she had entreated with the Steward and his sons.

"I am afraid my own story is far less interesting," Legolas admitted. "I wandered about for a year, then took my father's advice and came here to befriend Lord Elrond and the Dúnedain."

"Have you no thought of returning home?" she asked. She rubbed her shorn head, the red locks of which was only now growing back in a fiery stubble. She had shaved her hair in mourning for her Kíli the Dwarf, but that time of grief was over now.

"I have," he said slowly. "But I am not sure how my father would receive me. We left things so badly..."

Tauriel only laughed. "It could not be worse than how I left him. If he can forgive a traitorous Guard Captain, surely he can forgive his own son!"

Legolas took her words to heart, and when she left Imladris, so did he. He bade farewell to Lord Elrond and his family and spent one last night out with Aragorn, promising to return in time, then followed Tauriel back home.

As they approached Thranduil's halls, Legolas separated from her. "I want my return to be a surprise," he explained. "Father will love it."

He slipped into the kingdom unseen, hiding in his father's private chambers. When Thranduil came relax there that night, Legolas waited for him.

Thranduil cast off his heavy robe and breathed deeply. He sat down to unbraid his hair, commenting absently, "Hello, Legolas. How was—"

Then he froze.

Legolas stood, smiling, his heart pounding. "Hello, Father."

Thranduil beheld him for a moment, his hands still at his braids. Then he jumped to his feet and embraced Legolas, tears flowing freely from his eyes. "Son!" he cried. "You've returned!"

Legolas had anticipated Thranduil's delight, but he stood still, stunned by his father's earnest and physical welcome. He had been a child, his mother still living, the last time Thranduil had hugged him like this; he had always been reserved in contact since that sorrowful loss.

After a few seconds, Legolas overcame his surprise and hugged his father back tightly. It felt good to hold him, and better knowing that his father's anger had melted away.

"Legolas!" Thranduil exclaimed as they broke apart. "You look ages older. I have so many questions—how was your time away? Why did you decide to come back? Did you find what you were looking for? I have missed you so!"

"My journey was...eye-opening," Legolas said thoughtfully. He began to unfold his years away, telling his father everything. Thranduil listened more patiently now than he ever had before.

As he recounted his arrival in Elrond's realm, Thranduil interrupted, asking suggestively, "Did you meet any lovely Sindarin elves in Imladris?"

Legolas laughed uncomfortably. He had been intending to save this part for the end, but he realized that now was the time. He could relate to how Rystil had felt ten years earlier when he had asked her if she had a spouse.

"Ah—I met several, actually," he said. "But none I wish to marry, if that is what you mean."

"Ah, well." Thranduil shrugged. "We have many more here in the Greenwood, and Tauriel has returned—"

"I know, I traveled here with her." He shook his head. "And, uh, actually, Father, about that..."

Thranduil frowned. "What?"

"I'm aromantic." Legolas dared not look his father in the eyes, confessing. He had told only Aragorn before this, and Tauriel on the way back home. He had no idea how his father would take it. "I do not wish to marry. I do not feel that way for anyone."

Thranduil stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Then—much to Legolas's relief—he nodded slowly.

"Ah," he said at last. "Well...that would...certainly explain a few things."

"Yes." Legolas offered an awkward smile. "So, no grand destiny of an unlikely lover. Just me."

Thranduil laughed. "That is all you're worried about, a silly superstition? Oh, Legolas." He touched his son's shoulder. "I am afraid I do not quite understand—yet. But I'm sure I will in time."

"Thank you, Father," Legolas said, grasping his hand.

"And I believe that you  _do_  have a destiny in store," Thranduil affirmed. "There is fate enough for you on your own, without marriage being a part of it."

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic like a year ago and never finished it. I intended for it to be longer, going over Legolas and Gimli’s relationship, but I wanted to get it done so I stopped here. Maybe someday I’ll add a Part II.


End file.
